Clarity
by Chrysalide
Summary: Midday. It worked perfectly for them: the blunt artistry of a sun with no shadows. This, on top of the general mushbrainedness that seemed to overwhelm the servants when the heat kicked in, was why they did not bother with closing the blinds.


Disclaimer: I do not own The Legend of Zelda, or its characters.

"Clarity"

Beginnings are not for the midday. Beginnings are for mornings, or fancy soiree openings, or pleasant afternoons when destiny seems to catch up suddenly, in a surprise visit during tea time, good enough for chats between old friends. That was why middays were perfect for them to begin – and end – their secret sessions.

Middays are for the everyday, the uneventful. The amount of knights that came and went from the castle at that hour was more than enough to have a lone wolf slip through the ranks, and take the secret passages up to the highest tower. There was a silence to middays, a 'cut-to-the-chase' feel as if looking at life through a cross-section, right into its most boring and repetitive core. It worked perfectly for them: the blunt artistry of a sun with no shadows. This, on top of the general mush-brainedness that seemed to overwhelm the servants when the heat kicked in, was why they did not bother with closing the blinds.

The sunlight was something she had learned to tolerate out of routine, ever since that frantic first time when there was no place to focus on the particulars. Afterwards the sunlight had brought them a sense of cold clarity, so that they could see things for what they were. But today she wanted to take a good look at his face, and was thankful for the white dryness of the room no lie could infiltrate.

She began to undress before he arrived, breaking their little ritual of mirroring each other as they stripped themselves of layers. She felt an urge to bring something new to the experience. As she took off the gown and put on a light robe that allowed air to slip to her legs and what was in between them, it was as if the cloth itself were transferring expectation to her skin, over-sensitive and ready to prickle happily under his hands.

He had been away for quite some time.

She heard the familiar shift of stone come from the corner of the chamber, then saw his form disengage itself from the shadows. He looked very different: hair trimmed, armor fancied up and shiny. Not like her, who could only be a princess, only be a statue with the occasional new coat of paint. He would change every time, and every time something seemed to pull at her heart and squeeze it: Had he met a foreign princess worth the long span of time away? What was that to her, the midday mistress?

But then she saw his eyes, and breathed: they trembled in their sockets just by looking at her. Whatever had prompted these changes could wait for their post-coital musings, when the outer world would catch up with them.

"Zel-" he began, but a sudden shout from a maid outside froze them both. They waited a while. Then the tremor in his eyes translated into sudden action as he walked up to her with practiced sleuth.

He noticed she had laid routine aside – he followed suit, crawling onto the bed and reaching over to her for a kiss without so much as taking off his gauntlets. It was their first time all over again – they would work around clothes rather than lose the distorted perspective in which the other's eyes and lips and hands comprised the world. To acknowledge clothes would be to acknowledge distance.

He was hers entirely only for this span of time. By the next morning he would make his official entrance – their days would be booked, their nights guarded. He lifted her skirt to feel the skin around her tiny waist.

"How fared the trip?" Sprawled and breathless, the sunlight blinded her in synchrony with the pleasure that rose up in waves.

"Hmm." He was greeting the tangle of hairs in between her legs like one would a ripe fruit on a sultry day: slowly, piece by piece. She had not expected an answer, but wordlessly staring at the canopy ceiling always made her uncomfortable.

Pleasant, yet not exactly what she desired. Zelda held tightly onto the sheets as she rummaged her head for a reason. She refused to let go of this discomfort. It would be like seeing the storm come and imagining the shipwreck, without so much as putting up a fight. The moment could still be saved.

_From what? From what could it be saved?_

The sunlight grew brighter as a cloud rolled away. Zelda turned her head to a side to avoid a headache from the intensity, and into view came Link's hand, caressing her thigh.

"Odd," thought Zelda. The man was working with vicious electricity from under her skirt, and already she could sense him undoing his pants. And yet he was purposefully handicapped, unwilling to let go of a thigh he stroked lovingly.

It was as if this force was shared between them, enlarged by their time apart. In him, it would soon lose grip, finding a faulty outlet in the skin from her waist to her kneecap. In her, it was still a knot tangled in her throat, waiting to manifest. Their desire – their truth – could still be put into words.

But the pull of midday, of the everyday, proved strong. Almost unconsciously, her kneecap found his sex, and began to prod it, running up and down its length. She could see the sun ramming its light against them in merciless judgment. Her mind went primal, and her back arched in premature pleasure, as if exposing her chest to the sunlight for a kiss.

That was it? Just ignore the shift of the little things? Deny that there was ever a truth cracking the surface of their concrete?

A ray illuminated the strains of his heavily-clad hand, which reminded her of a child pulling his whole weight towards the object of his desire, the arm and body extended as far as they could, the stream of tears highlighting a passion that, though strong, could soon become inconsequential.

_No. N__O._

"Link," she said, gripping the metal-strapped hand lodged at her thigh with strength, thinking that maybe the layers disallowed any sentiment to get through. But then he gripped back, hard, and she knew he had gotten the message.

As they were, she could only feel his reaction, not see it in his face. So she closed her eyes. Midday turned into a tinge of orange trespassing her eyelids.

"I missed you." It was a whisper, a plea to stop and think. She felt its message reverberate through her body as she gripped his hand harder, trying to close the gap between their skins.

It was more than what she said, of course. She wondered for years why he kept coming back, why she kept expecting his short visits and setting aside suitor after suitor, why she kept enduring the hollowness left by his middays of frantic lust. She had found the answer in herself, out of the blue, had blurt it out to the midday air, heavy with vapor and the ordinate, the stench of a secret held back far too long. Then, she waited for an answer to conjure itself.

It was not in the uncovering of a thinly veiled affection that their lives changed, but in their outspoken desire for it to be found. The aftermath left them as if looking at their newborn, unsure of what to do after all the expectation.

There was a lapse of time where he breathed unto her belly button, heavily, waiting for the haze to clear. The light fabric of her dress, coupled with the sunlight streaming through it made her skin look blue, and dead.

He made his way out from under her skirt, then edged up the bed to lie at her side. In the outside light, she was livid but beautiful.

"I missed you, as well."

He had not released her hand. They stared at the canopied ceiling that seemed to swirl to the comfortless breeze. She rested her head on his shoulder, suddenly shy and smiling.

The question grew between them: "What now?" It was a question full of black pits and fog, with interspersed patches of vaguely outlined hope. As she lightly passed a finger over his arm, strong and knotty, Zelda focused on the hope. At least no more delusions of truth.

They had finally found their way out of the false clarity of daylight.

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What'd you guys think? First completed fanfic EVER. I feel proud. I'd feel even more proud if someone actually enjoyed it. Please, please review! I'm a noob no matter what perspective is used, so all comments and suggestions are welcome.

- Chrysalide


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